


A World With(out) Sacrifice

by ninwrites



Category: Shadowhunters (TV), The Mortal Instruments Series - Cassandra Clare
Genre: Angst and Feels, Angst and Tragedy, Blood and Violence, Canon Compliant, Canon-Typical Violence, Disappearance, For the most part, Headcanon, Hopeful Ending, Hurt No Comfort, I promise, I'm Sorry, Kidnapping, M/M, Non-Graphic Violence, Pre-Season/Series 03, edom theory, theory piece
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-02
Updated: 2017-11-02
Packaged: 2019-01-28 11:00:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,937
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12605108
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ninwrites/pseuds/ninwrites
Summary: I will find you, Magnus{A theory - in the form of a fic - about a possible edom storyline}





	A World With(out) Sacrifice

**Author's Note:**

> it's been a while since I've properly written angst, so this is an exercise as well as a theory - I feel a little rusty, I must admit, but there's been some recent discussion about a potential edom plotline in season 3 that's intrigued me, and I decided to try my hand at it. 
> 
> I hope that you enjoy ... and I apologise in advance.
> 
> \--
> 
> love to the angst squad for encouraging this.

 

The loft is empty when Alec returns.

Magnus had stopped answering his texts, abruptly, almost an hour ago. If there had been an explanation, of any kind, then Alec would have nothing to worry about - but the conversation had gone from friendly banter about their plans for dinner, flirty promises and casual terms of affection ... to radio silence.

Magnus always replies to texts. Always.

There's an eerie chill to the air, phantom shivers tripping over his skin, pulling his hairs up into a standing position beneath his heavy-duty leather jacket. Something feels off, but it's ... more than that. It's not as simple as 'oh I've left my bow at home' but something closer to 'a truly horrible and unthinkable act has just occurred'.

"Magnus," He calls out, despite knowing it's pointless.

No answer comes, as he'd expected, because Magnus isn't here. Magnus is gone.

Alec makes it as far as the couch before his tremoring knees give out beneath him. He collapses onto the ground, palms scratching on Magnus' ancient Persian carpet, heart wrenching out of his chest.

His scream is silent, shards of crystal anguish tearing at the walls of his throat on their path to freedom, blood roaring like ocean waves inside his ears, drowning out anything else he could have hoped to hear. He's lost his heart, somewhere between the crash to the floor and wherever Magnus has gone, and without it he feels hollow.

There's an empty cavern behind his ribs, his soul twisted into tangled knots until all he can see is black spots in the edges of his vision, his entire body pulsing with an ache that settles into his bones like lead.

There are tears burning at the corners of his eyes, his cheeks red and hot beneath his curling fingertips.

Magnus is gone.

He doesn't know where, or why, or how - but he knows that Magnus is missing, because it feels like a  _part_  of him has gone missing, too.

The world has blackened around it's edges, shades of monochromatic black and white because Magnus  _is_ the colour in Alec's life, and without him there's no happiness or light - only an unending, torturous heartache that stings like barbed wire pressing into his skin.

"Magnus," Alec whispers, voice hoarse and grating. There's no reply, but he's not expecting one.

The unresponsive silence that battles against the faint whispers of New York's street-life is the last sliver of clanging truth that he needs to bridge the gap between what he hopes has happened, and what he doesn't want to admit to himself.

After that, it's as though a catalyst strikes, his eyes opening wider to the destruction in front of him. Toppled couches with burnt fabric, a vase broken in pieces like it had been thrown, curtains torn and collapsed on the ground, in dirty tatters.

Then his gaze lands on the coffee table, crunched in half, shattered obsidian scattered on the floor, the remnants of a broken wine glass dripping with red -  _wine or blood, wine or blood -_ spotted between.

There's something else, something that flashes when Alec moves closer. The glass digs into his fleshy palms but he can't feel it, can't feel anything for the frozen numbness that wraps around him. Blood, his blood -  _it has to be_ his  _blood_  - drips onto the carpet, but he keeps crawling forward until his scratched up hand closes around the red-and-gold gift.

He remembers the day he found it, the apprehension at the idea of getting Magnus a gift, the joy that had filled him at Magnus' surprise, warring with hurt and anger at anybody who led Magnus to believe that he wasn't worth the entire world.

Magnus takes it everywhere with him. Everywhere. He wouldn't leave it behind for anything.

"Magnus," Alec sobs, hard and painful, his spine curving forward as he collapses. His hands and arms are cut up, ruby beads of life smearing over his pale skin, but none of it hurts as much as the hole that Magnus' disappearance has created inside of him.

"I'm going to find you." Alec states, naive though it might be, digging his fingers into the  _omamori_  charm. "I'll ... I'll track you, I'll scour New York, I'll trudge to the ends of the earth and back, I'll do whatever it takes - I will find you, Magnus. You can't just up and disappear on me, that's  _not_ how it works."

Desperation claws at him, shredding him to pieces, but he will stop at nothing until he finds Magnus.

He promised Magnus his forever, promised him all the time that he has to give - but their time has not even started yet. There's still so much more they need to do, so much love that Alec has he's yet to give.

This isn't where their story ends. Not when it's only just begun.

 

* * *

 

The first thing that Magnus notices when he wakes is the restraints around his wrists - not for the way they're stringing him up, arms stretched tight above his head, pulling taught on his shoulders - but for the block it's putting on his magic.

He can't feel it. It's there, he knows it's there, but he can't touch it, can barely sense it, a teasing distance out of reach.

Frustration burns inside of him, searing the underside of his skin but he can't do anything about it, because his magic is restricted from him and his fury has nowhere to go. It's simmering and surging, a tiger locked inside a cage, made torturous by the fact that he's been strung up like meat on a hook.

His feet are hanging, just far enough from the ground that his toes can just brush against the hard floor, but not enough to release any of the strain on his limbs - his vision is blurred, spotted with black at the edges, but he thinks he's in a cave. The wall behind him is digging into his back, rocky outcrops sliced against his spine, and there's a musty, almost stale smell, like water that hasn't been oxygenated, water that would poison more than hydrate. Beneath that, an acidic smell that stings, burning his lungs to ash.

There's only one place that would bring such an unmistakeable stench.

Chilling shivers rattle his bones, and not from the soaked shirt stuck to his skin - the air is too hot and abrasive to cool anything down; it's fear, stone-cold and unmistakeable.

"How gracious of you," A crackling voice echoes against the stone walls, grating Magnus' inner ear. "To awaken. Has his highness gotten enough beauty sleep?"

He blinks, furiously, to clear his vision despite his heavy lids - if there is a fortune that can be found in his situation, it's that the light is low and not likely to affect his over-sensitivity. Restricted magical access, paired with extreme fatigue and whatever else this demonic hell is doing to his system doesn't add up to his being in the best shape.

He's a little surprised that he's not hurt, physically, but he's keeping it refrained because good things aren't in his foreseeable future and letting hint of anything would be dangerous.

Magnus doesn't answer, refuses to. The speaking figure steps forward, moving shadow morphing into a man nearly seven feet tall, with eyes like Magnus' that glow red instead of gold, a crown of metal thorns and twisted roses atop his head, cheekbones protruding from sunken skin pulled taut over bone.

"Hello, son." Asmodeus states, clicking pointed teeth. "You're looking-" Asmodeus tilts his head, smirking in a way that highlighted his delight. "Alive."

Magnus flexes his hands, the glowing restraints around his wrist scorching his skin like branding steel. It hasn't been nearly long enough since he last saw the man - if he can be called that - behind his creation.

Asmodeus steps forward, shoes pounding against the floor, a resounding earthquake trembling beneath his feet. His suit is immaculate, form-fitted and black as the void with buttons in the shape of - Magnus swallows down acidic bile - human teeth. He stops only once he is close enough that his crimson eyes are all Magnus can see.

"You're pathetic." Asmodeus snarls, lifting his hand - gnarled with scales that form sharp and pointed silver claws. "Playing house with humans, pretending that you can have a normal life, that you can have  _love_?"

Asmodeus laughs, a booming roar that stirs unease in Magnus' gut. "You are nothing but demon scum, and it is all you will ever be."

Asmodeus curls his fingers down Magnus' cheek, drawing blood like jewels. "I wonder if your boy-toy bleeds like you." Asmodeus swipes his tongue along his bottom lip, the corners twisted down. "I'm sure he'd taste  _fantastic._  All of that invigorating youth - such a waste, that he's choosing to spend his days with  _you_."

Asmodeus' claws cut across the corner of Magnus' mouth. "Human life is so precious and fleeting - perhaps I should take him off your hands? Save you the trouble of losing him when you're truly attached. At this point I doubt you'd even miss him."

Magnus growls, fury bubbling beneath his skin. Without his magic, he has no outlet for his burning anger, leaving it simmering beneath his pulsing skin - he can't let Asmodeus get to Alec, can't lose Alec like this, but he can't save Alec from Asmodeus either. Not in his current state.

Magnus spits, blood dripping down his chin. "Fuck you."

He might be pathetic, he certainly feels it in the situation he's found himself, but he's not weak. He will not stand by and let his father hurt Alec, or worse, just because he's been kidnapped.

He will find a way out of here. He is the son of a Prince of Hell, the High Warlock of Brooklyn, and a damn stubborn man. They say that love is the most powerful spell of all, and Magnus isn't afraid of using it to his advantage.

Asmodeus thrives off taking memories, his realm of Edom runs off the immortality of his own children - he is nothing but death and destruction, his power sourced from the lifeforce of others.

Magnus' power is his own - and it's not restricted to just magic. He has a strength inside of him cultivated by centuries of hardship and determination, and he's not going to let anything take that away from him.

 

\---

 

Once Asmodeus leaves, promising his return but not declaring when, Magnus allows the weight of his situation to - metaphorically - pull him down. His arms are beginning to sting with the pressure of holding him for so long; not that time is exactly quantifiable in Edom - the sky is a hurricane of neverending darkness, filled with the faint screams of tortured souls and demons desperate for something to devour.

There's a mystic quality to the place - he could go for days, weeks even without food or water, without being let down to give his limbs a rest, and he'd still live. He would certainly be a lot worse for wear, a shell of the man he once was but he'd be alive - which is all that Asmodeus wants.

His true intentions aren't entirely clear just yet, but Magnus has no doubt that there are ulterior motives at play. Asmodeus doesn't tend to make conversation with anyone unless he wants something.

There's a vile voice in the back of his mind, taunting him with ideas he'd rather keep far from his conscious; he will not let Asmodeus get to Alec, even if the effort takes his last breath. Anything would be worth keeping Alec safe, alive and breathing.

He'd do anything for Alec - sacrificing himself is no exception.

**Author's Note:**

> ...
> 
> (I'm really excited to see where the show goes in season 3 - it seems as though things are going to be bigger, better, and heavier, and I can't wait.) 
> 
> if you want, you can talk to me about the show and possible theories for season 3/malec here: 
> 
> Twitter: [ninwrites](https://mobile.twitter.com/ninwrites) for fic stuff/updates/snippets + [malteser_24](https://mobile.twitter.com/malteser_24) for general fandom mess
> 
> Tumblr: [killjoyrow](http://killjoyrow.tumblr.com/)
> 
>  
> 
> Thank you for reading!
> 
> \- Nin ❤


End file.
